


we'll make it right for you

by elaineroyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Harry, F/M, Genderbending, Male Lily Evans, Marauders, fem James Potter, first wizarding war, genderbent, jily, marauder era, tw for miscarriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaineroyal/pseuds/elaineroyal
Summary: Jemma Potter and Liam Evans have never had much luck in building a family. Which is fine, you know, considering the seemingly neverending war, impending doom. They weren't in the place in life to raise a child. Fate stepped in during a fateful mission in 1981, where Jemma has found a beautiful baby boy. The couple has to make decisions, sacrifice, and briefly consider kidnapping and changing their identities. (But guess what. I, unlike Miss Rowling, will let this family have a happy end. Promise.) Rated T for swearing? Darker themes?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	we'll make it right for you

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I wouldn't usually write an intro to a story but this is a funky one so I'm going to set the scene real quick and then we'll be on our way. This is a story of Jemma Potter and Liam Evans, and how they became the adoptive parents to Harry Stuart, future Potter. So in other words, the couple is genderfucked. I want to go ahead and acknowledge that there will be mentions of infertility and a past miscarriage, in case that content makes you uncomfortable. This chapter will be in Jemma's POV. And now I'll actually write, thank you! Reviews and comments always appreciated.

****

**THE DAILY PROPHET - APRIL 3RD, 1981.**

**_Appleby Village in North Lincolnshire, England, has been destroyed. The neighborhood was called home by many families of mixed blood and magic, and no one is quite sure of how the events transpired. Dozens of homes are now turned to rubble. Investigative journalist Andy Smudgley provides his theories on page 7._ **

Andy Smugdley, my twat. His theories aren't shit. If he works for the Minister, if he's writing for the Prophet, he doesn't know what I know about Appleby Village. I'd been sent there with a small group; me, Marlene, and Benjy. Mad-Eye had some idea of how the homes had been destroyed, he knew that the Death Eaters had been moving through Lincolnshire. And why wouldn't they target a neighborhood of "progressive" witches and wizards? Families that didn't disown their children for loving werewolves, or blood traitors, or muggleborns. When in the bloody fuck did that become a progressive idea.

Going there felt like visiting the edge of the earth. You could smell smoke, and dirt, and blood. And death. I had only just turned twenty-two, and I was already very familiar with what a dead body smelled like, looked like, felt like. Few homes were left standing, and if they were, they were still empty. Couldn't blame the former inhabitants for wanting to run, I could only hope they had gotten help from the Ministry, the Order, anyone. Our only assignment was to gather evidence. Information, anything we could find before some news team flooded the premises. 

There was one home in particular, where the framing showed that there had been a fire, but there were pieces intact. I took it upon myself to explore the remaining rooms, to see what had been left. Whoever had lived here had been making dinner, fish, by the smell of it. Evans always told me that I'd want to start bringing a mask to these sorts of things, for the ash, the stench. Evans also knew that I was too vain for that. So I smelled all the smells, I inhaled all the fumes, and I worked through it. I could see where flame had eaten up carpet, where window panes sprinkled glass all through the hallways. As I crunched through it, thankfully in quite heavy boots, I heard a noise. Not glass crunching, not wood creaking with the threat to fall. 

I heard a whimper. 

A weak, hoarse cry. Someone who had been crying for a long time now, or since the incident had happened nearly twenty-four hours prior. Someone young. I withdrew my wand, though something in me told me that there wouldn't be any reason to attack. I followed the sound, my heart pounding in my ears, and I pushed open a door that had mostly fallen off of the hinges. It was a nursery. A nursery with a broken window, and books had fallen off of every shelf, but I could see the jungle creatures painted on the walls. The stuffed lion on a chair in the corner, a mobile with tropical leaves and fruits. 

_November 5, 1980. Sirius's birthday had just past, his 21st. That had been the night where Jemma had to finally fess up, finally had to tell her friend that no, she couldn't take that shot of firewhiskey with him. She had been ten weeks pregnant with Liam Evans' baby. He had howled with laughter, danced drunkenly and sang songs about their little Prongslet. It had been such a joyous night, and then two days later she woke up bleeding. Heavy bleeding. Liam had just left for a stakeout, and she had run to the toilet only to pass more. She didn't write him, she didn't beg to have him brought back home. She held onto that grief alone for six more days._

Beneath that mobile, in a pristine white crib, there was a boy. My heart had crawled up to sit in my throat now, making it feel impossible to breathe. He didn't seem brand new, but he didn't seem quite like a toddler, either. He was sitting up, reaching at the air before he even got a look at me. He was smacking his lips, he had to be hungry, and his olive face was red from how much he had likely been calling out for Mummy, Daddy, _anyone,_ to come take care of him. I could barely smell his nappy, I couldn't think of anything but saving him. 

"Merlin's saggy tits," I whispered in disbelief. I put my wand back into the wild ponytail I had wrangled my curls into, and used both of my hands to carefully, very carefully, bring the baby into my arms. He wasn't afraid of me, it didn't seem, but I wasn't who he wanted. That much was certain. "I know," I said quietly, my voice naturally taking on a coo. "I know, I wasn't who you were expecting. But I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Til we figure out where your Mum and Dad are. I'm sure they're alright." Why was I lying to this kid? I guarantee he didn't know what I was saying, what I meant. I remembered reading in one of those baby books that how you talked, how you presented your feelings, that mattered. 

I walked around with him, feeling that he was definitely hungry, he'd had a few shits, and he must not have slept well, but I couldn't just leave without bringing anything. I wrapped him up in a blanket from his crib, and I handed him his lion. "Gryffindor kid, are you? Hang onto this for me, such a good boy," I hummed. I grabbed a handful of nappies from a changing table, stuffing them into my cloak's pockets. I hurried him down the stairs, and sent out a Patronus to my team members, who were scouring through a few other homes in ruin. 

The stag trotted through the village, whispering when it found its recipients, _I found a survivor. He's a baby, he's not a risk. I'm taking him back to Headquarters immediately._

 _Liam is going to kill me,_ that was definitely a thought running through my head. He always said we never coped well with all that happened last year. And maybe we hadn't. Maybe everyone would think I kidnapped this kid, or that I was going to try and keep it, like a child who found a frog on their sidewalk. (I feel that it is quite irrelevant to mention that maybe I was, in fact, the child who took in every frog and lizard that crawled on our patio.) It didn't matter if anyone thought that. The priority was to make sure this child was safe. Even if his parents weren't. Maybe _because_ his parents definitely weren't, and he didn't need to be discovered by the Ministry and dumped into an orphanage. He needed care. He needed love. 

Call me conceited, but I believe he needed me.

Headquarters was always a bitch to get into. You had to apparate into a side alley, then poke the third brick down on some muggle pub six times, which was replaced with a Portkey daily, which sent you to the entry way, where you had to speak to whomever was patrolling the entrance and verify your identity. The baby wasn't fond of all this travel, and I was worried he would end up vomiting all over me. I'd understand, but I was already too aware of this child's bodily functions. Lucky for me, the patroller at the entrance was Remus John Lupin. My Moony.

"Hey, Moons, I can explain-"

The man cut me off, glancing between me and the baby with wide eyes. "What did you say to me before we walked across the stage at our graduation ceremony?" he demanded, wand pointed at my nose. 

I huffed. He was always such a stickler. I couldn't blame him, of course, but I was in a hurry. I needed to get this kid something to eat, I needed to give him a bath. I wasn't thinking about how incredibly strange and immediate my thought process had changed, how the priorities had shifted. "I told you that it was an incredible honor to know you, and I thanked you for letting me cheat off of your History of Magic essays for seven years, and to check your fly. Unless you wanted dear old Minnie to get a glimpse at little Moony." I couldn't even smirk at the memory, all I could think of was getting inside.

His hand fell, and he let out a sigh of relief. "What in the hell is this," he gestured to the boy in my arms. 

"I think you might call it a child, Remus," I retorted. "He was abandoned in Appleby, I've got to help him. What can babies eat? I don't think my tits are going to do me much good, that's quite a change." I shoved past him, and he ended up following me through the repurposed warehouse, mumbling something to Dorcas as we passed by. Likely to take his spot. The baby was calming down, screaming less, but he had his hand in his mouth. I knew he had to be starving.

Remus was shocked, I could tell. He was doing that thing where his mouth would open and close, like he was going to say something, but rethinking it. "Looks old enough for solids," he finally managed to sputter out. "We've got cereal? Fruit, I know Molly brought in some bananas, apples." I nodded, trying to go through the cabinets but struggling with his shifting weight, trying to keep a hold of everything. I was already overwhelming myself. "Let me," he sighed, taking down some food from the cupboards. "Put his things into the yellow bedroom, get him in a tub, I'll make him a plate." 

I could've kissed him. I wouldn't, of course, both Liam and Padfoot would've murdered me, but Remus was helping me. Immensely. "You've always been my favourite," I hummed, and he scoffed. 

"No, I haven't. Now go, play house." 

Was that what I was doing? Well. Kind of. I was wading through dangerous waters, but I was reminding myself to not get attached. Just do your job, Jemma, just take care of the victim. Nevermind that the victim was adorable, even as I disposed of the vile nappy. The clothes could be charmed clean, we could rework those. I dumped his things onto the bed, donned with mustardy yellow sheets and covers, and took him for a bath. He seemed to calm down at the feeling of slightly warm water, he didn't struggle when I put some shampoo into his dark curls. 

"Your hair looks quite like mine," I murmured to him. "We'll see how it dries, won't we? You'll be so nice, and so clean..." I squirted some soap right into the water, spinning it to bubble up. That seemed to amuse him, I actually got to hear the crying boy's happy gurgles. My heart felt like it might burst. "Oh, so sweet. You like bubbles, then?" 

He did like bubbles, very much. He liked them so much that he didn't mind when I rinsed his hair, or did a bit of scrubbing here and there. He was warming up, he was getting happier. I'm sure he needed attention as much as he needed to be clean and fed, and I was doing my job, doing a service, by playing with him like this. No attachment at all. I was so immersed in my career that I didn't hear the door creak open behind me. 

I grabbed a towel, scooping the baby up into my arms after he was all rinsed off and rested him on my hip, all while humming a happy little tune for him. When I stood up and turned around, I could see the tall, red-haired drink of water that I fell in love with ten years ago, arms crossed with a raised eyebrow. Liam was back, I thought his mission would keep him away for a few more days. I felt the colour drain from my face, my hazel eyes widening slightly.

_November 12, 1980._

_"Jemma, look at me," Liam begged. He was sitting on the bathroom floor with Jemma, who was working so hard not to cry. Jemma Potter didn't cry unless she was laughing. And there were very few people who could make her laugh that hard. Now was different. Now she wasn't dabbing at her eyes as she squealed with laughter, her nose wasn't scrunched, her glasses weren't sliding off her face. She was looking up at their ceiling light, hugging her knees to her chest, paler than he'd ever seen her. "I know this hurts. Believe me, I-"_

_"You don't know," the woman snapped. "You_ don't. _All those times I wanted to try, to actually try, not fuck up the way we did, you told me it wasn't the right time. Who needs a baby in a war. You were right, Evans, congratulations." She didn't mean it. Of course she didn't. Jemma was hurt, and angry, and upset, and she lashed out. But Liam had never been the subject of it._

_The man sighed, sitting on the edge of the tub. He ran his hands back through his hair, wishing, for once, that he wasn't so good at keeping his composure. He had his moments. He could be angry, he could fight. But sadness, grief, he didn't know how to express that. It never got any easier. Especially not when it was his baby, a baby he hadn't fully wrapped his mind around, but he knew that Jemma had. Jemma had been thrilled, she wanted a family, wartime or not. "Just because the timing was wrong doesn't mean that I'm not hurt," he spoke slowly, each word calculated. He reached a hand out, any attempt to try and hold her, get close to her. Shockingly, Jemma put her hand over his, allowing him to touch her shoulder. "I wanted this, too, Jemma, please know that."_

_She had just started to see him come around to the idea. He had been reading the baby books, he had been talking to her about ideas for how to decorate the room. How to make her parents' home into their own, since she had inherited it earlier in the year. Grief on grief on grief. "I have to figure out how to make it go away," she whispered, leaning over to rest her cheek on their hands. She had work to do. Liam had work to do. And now that she didn't have to rest anymore, she had to help. Fight. Fight for the world where they could try this again._

_Liam's heart ached for her. "No one is going to rush you back into it," he assured her, but he knew how she was. She would want distractions. She would want to think of anything but the hurt, because that was Jemma to a T. Nobody got to know how broken she felt. And at times, he could admire that in her. "But...But if we're going to go back to work, and I know you'll want to. We just have to shut it off, Jemma. No attachment. Lock the door to that nursery, hide the things we've got, I don't know. Just...I hate to say that we have to pretend. But-"_

_"We have to pretend. Got it. Agreed, deal."_

I could hear that deal being made in my head, ringing out. No attachment. We had to sweep the thoughts of babies and family under the rug, it wasn't the priority. The priority was to win this war, to make the world a safer place for a kid. Maybe I could be honest with myself for a small moment, I could admit that the lines were being blurred, the black and white of that deal was becoming increasingly grey. This little boy was making it much harder to pretend. I opened my mouth to speak, to begin to explain, but he shook his head. 

"Remus caught me up. Gave me the plate, it's waiting in the bedroom. I also cleaned the shit-covered onesie on the bed," he told me. I could tell he was doing that thing, the thing where he was picking and choosing his words. He was talking in that measured, almost professional tone. Which meant that he had plenty of thoughts that he didn't want me to know about yet. He smiled at me, only slightly. Like a grimace. "Come on, let's get him fed."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: scene? set. emotions? broken. very excited to start this new story and see where it ends up. very excited for any feedback and hope to put out the next chapter soon. will liam love lil baby? will lil baby's parents take him back? who knows! thank you for reading, whether you love or hate it. always eager to hear from y'all.


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